


A Quick Break

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Desk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Office Sex, Power Bottom Sips, Top Sjin, bc hell yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sips knows just the way to relax when works gets a little too stressful, and Sjin is more than happy to assist.





	A Quick Break

**Author's Note:**

> Hey wrow I'm so late to the yog-fic party. So here's some rando smut. Also like, if any yall got requests for one shots, hmu @lesbian-xephos on tumblr

It has been, inarguably, the most vexing day this entire month, which speaks volumes given the various, infuriating issues resulting of a grid crash that wiped all their computers in Shipping and Receiving. This mightn’t have presented such a problem had it occurred any other time they weren’t processing shipment for their second biggest client, and, as such, Sips has been on the phone all day trying to salvage the account. Exercising great restraint, he eventually concedes to a 10% discount on all future orders for a year, cursing quite spectacularly when he hangs up, battling the temptation to call back and tell that stuffy CEO where to shove it.

 

Instead, he conceives a better, more satisfying course of action, and rings Sjin’s division, telling the manager to find the bloody bastard and get him to his office asap. He’ll regret the insults at a later time. Presently, he needs to goddamn relax, and Sjin has proved his skills extend well beyond processing dirt.

 

By the time he arrives, Sips - denying himself anything until then - is ravenous for Sjin’s touch, though he maintains a cool demeanor just for the sake of making him squirm.

 

“Sure took you long enough. The hell were you doing?”

 

“I - I’m sorry,” Sjin stutters, his breathless voice inciting shivers at the back of Sip’s neck. “We had a small mixup of loam and clay, but I fixed it, don’t worry.”

 

“Well good work or whatever, but I don’t care about that, Sjin.”

 

Rising slow from his chair, Sips circles round his desk and perches against the edge of it, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles as he leans back on his elbows.

 

“When I ask you to come to my office,” he says, burning alive inside as Sjin’s eyes flicker up and down his posture. “I shouldn’t have to wait ten minutes for you to follow orders, right? I think that’s fair.”

 

“Of course, Sips,” Sjin answers, chastened.

 

“Good. Now c’mere.”  
  
Sjin obeys, standing to attention a foot from Sip’s outstretched own, but not daring any further. Amused, Sips retracts his legs and properly hoists himself on to the desk. Sans request, Sjin ventures the new distance, though halting another respective foot from Sip’s person. At this, Sips sighs and rolls his eyes, grabs Sjin by the shoulders, and hauls him closer.

 

“I’ve had a real shitty day,” he says, cocking his head as he looks up at Sjin. “So if you could do me a favor and not play coy, that’d be great, man.”

 

“Ah-hah, well, uh, okay if that’s - ”

 

Sips doesn’t afford him time to finish, dragging him down into a ferocious kiss, smiling against his lips when he feels Sjin’s hands on his thighs and the tentative pressure they exert, prompting Sips to spread his legs. He readily does so, groaning as Sjin kneads his palm inward.

 

“ _Gh-hah-_ god,” he grapples for words as Sjin works his hand, kissing beneath his jaw at the same time. “Sj-Sjin, god you’re good.”

 

“You just - just need to go easy on yourself sometimes,” Sjin says, breathing carefully behind his ear before sucking the skin there, earning another moan from Sips.

 

“But should we, uhm, really be doing this here?”

 

“Don’t see you - _hahh fuck right there_ \- d-don’t see you stopping.”

 

By way of response, Sjin scrapes his teeth along Sips’ jugular, sucking sharply where his collar meets his pulse, and Sips promptly tears off his tie in one, fluid movement, fingers next stumbling over the buttons of his shirt.

 

“Let me,” Sjin offers, gently staying Sips’ hands and undoing the buttons with agonizing precision. Pushing aside the shirt fabric, he kisses Sips’ jutting collar bone, nibbling up near his shoulder, biting harder as Sips rewards him by shimmying a knee between his legs.

 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles against Sips’ flushed skin, rocking his hips forward, grinding against Sips’ thigh.

 

“Easy there, big guy,” Sips soothes, stroking the back of Sjin’s damp neck. “We got plenty of time.”

 

“Sorry,” Sjin huffs. “Think I’m a - a little stressed, too.”

 

“Pent up frustra _tions_?” Sips’ question pitches with his gasp, Sjin administering what will surely be an impressive hickey tomorrow.

 

“You could say that,” he answers, and nudges Sips’ chin up to gain better access.

 

“Bet we - we can help each other out?”

 

Sjin removes his tongue and lips from the skin he was just marring, straightens, and regards Sips with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Why else am I here?” He asks.

 

Prostrating, as well, Sips grins at him, replaces his knee with the heel of his hand, and marvels at how easily Sjin’s face capitulates to slackened pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed, his breathes labouring to low, rolling pants.

 

“Coulda called you in here for anything, Sjin,” he says plainly. “Did you know I totally saved the Maston account? Of course not, cause you’ve got me pegged as some sex-crazed idiot - not that it’s always wrong, don’t get _me_ wrong - or maybe I wanted you here because I’m just really goddamn passionate about loam and clay not getting mixed up, Sjin.”

 

Savoring the mess his words and hand make of Sjin’s composure, he hastens to his feet and, without warning, grabs Sjin by the shoulders, turns him half around so he’s leant against the desk, and takes to his knees, working Sjin’s fly with practiced speed. He’s knelt like this more times than memory can serve to recall, but the thrill seizes him anew on each occasion, heat suffusing his every nerve, pooling where he refuses to give attention until he lets Sjin fuck him.

 

He most cherishes the blooming shadow of lust that usurps whatever reservation still remains in Sjin’s eyes as he works his tongue, and, though he tries not to, Sjin inevitably tangles his fingers through Sips’s hair, anchors his palm at the back of head, and forces him forward, crying aloud as Sips takes him so smoothly. Given today’s frustrations, Sips finds himself in a particular mood to wrest every pathetic, desperate noise he can from Sjin, so he endures, nose pressed to Sjin’s naval, until spots pepper his vision and Sjin is all but sobbing.

 

Pulling back, he gasps lungfuls of air and lets Sjin hoist him to his feet, stroke his face, and capture his mouth in a heavy kiss. It lasts longer than Sips is keen on, and finally he breaks it, growling against Sjin’s teeth, “I swear to Christ if you don’t fuck me now -” but hasn’t time to finish, Sjin (his usually kindly expression lost to desire) spinning him round and shoving him over the desk.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Sips curses, and Sjin leans over to kiss his ear and whisper an apology, but Sips only sighs impatiently.

 

“I’ll _make_ you sorry if you don’t - just - ” he tries to angle himself so he can look back, but Sjin pushes a warning fist into the small of his spine, so he stills, resting his cheek against the cool, varnished desktop.

 

“Middle drawer,” he breathes. “Near the back.”

 

“Under the Maston file,” Sjin comments upon procuring the condoms and lube.

 

“Well it’s a bunch of fuckers over there anyway.”

 

Sips laughs to himself, quieting only when Sjin works off his trousers, letting them fall around his ankles, the crinkle of wrappers and pop of a bottle cap proceeding, and at last the tentative pressure of Sjin’s fingers against him.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, the words gravelly but sincere, and Sips forces himself to respond civilly.

 

“If you don’t fingerfuck me in the next two seconds, you’re fired.”

 

Perhaps he could have done better, but it earns him his desired result, the slick slide of Sjin’s index and middle fingers painful at first, but he relaxes into the sweet tension as Sjin sets a careful rhythm. The condom fits somewhat loose, which Sips has learned to ignore, especially when Sjin angles just _so_ -

 

“H-holy _fucking there ah-_ hah!”

 

He arches against Sjin whose free hand coaxes him back against the desk, his other hand still working with brutal precision, and the hellish day melts away under these ministrations, Sips lost to a haze of hot, building pleasure that won’t quite release. Nor does he want it to.

 

Some unfathomable length of time elapses, but only when Sips is reduced to pleading and _pleading_ does Sjin remove his fingers and take him properly, thrusting his hips flush against Sips, both of them lost for breath and words alike. For some moments, as Sjin pushes so, _so_ slowly into him, Sips can only emit inarticulate whimpers and gasps that fog the desktop’s pristine shine.

 

“Ohh _hh_ _fuck_ ,” he eventually manages when Sjin runs his knuckles up his spine - pressing the silk of his shirt into his damp skin - his hand uncurling around the nape of Sips’ neck, applying a trifling weight, but as Sips tries to shift, he finds himself held down there. Sharp stutters of heat and desperation course through him upon realizing this, and he savors the solidity of their every point of contact: Sjin’s hand, his hips, his arm that pinions Sips’ left own across his back when he attempts to move again.

 

“Just. Let me…” Sjin pants, and although Sips lets his arm slack, Sjin does not release it.

 

“You’re so good, _so_ good,” Sips moans quietly, truth in every syllable. He’s had many partners before, but none quite so cautious as Sjin, none who have made him feel so safe despite the more daring endeavors they sometimes undertake.

 

Sjin responds by letting go Sips’ neck, ensnaring his fingers in his hair, and yanking to secure his head back and to the side, affording him access to Sips’ throat so he can graze his teeth against the bruises spreading there.

 

“Jesus - _hah -_ fucking Christ,” Sips winces, and Sjin kisses his temple.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Sips takes the momentary lapse to rock his hips back, earning for himself a hiss of air.

 

“You worry too much, w-we ain’t even got a safe word.”

 

“Maybe we should use one,” Sjin comments straightening himself then pushing Sips’ head hard against the desk, jerking his hips forward much less chastely.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Sips groans, and Sjin makes a disapproving noise.

 

“Not that - _ah_ \- y-you say that too much.”

 

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be so _good_ at it, then,” Sips counters, his free hand scrabbling for purchase.

 

Sjin’s increased vigor pitches them both roughly forward, causing the desk to creak rhythmically, and Sips’s hitched breaths match in time. Very soon, their banter devolves to wrecked sounds, curses, pleas, and eventual, identical sighs, as release seizes them together in a conflagration of skin on skin, lips on lips, hips on stuttering hips. They stay bent over the desk, Sjin kissing the back of Sips’s neck over and over, and Sips relishing each tentative touch before they must re-assume their propriety.

 

“I’ll be missed soon,” Sjin says, swiping at the wrinkles in his trousers, looking anywhere, really, but at Sips.

 

He is always so immensely timid after, as though he’d been the one on his knees begging.

 

“You can tell 'em I say to shove it,” Sips replies, buttoning his collar. He’s sat on the desk again, legs crossed, rubbing a hand absently up and down his sore spine.

 

“Well, they’ll believe it if it’s from you,” Sjin says, offering a small smile.

 

“What, everyone think I gotta stick up my ass? That get to you, man?”

 

Sjin shrugs.

 

“Well don’t worry,” Sips grins. “I’ll just tell em it’s you.”

 

“I - what - Sips what the _hell_.”

 

“True ain’t it?” Sips slides down from his perch and steps close to Sjin, flinching when he shifts too much weight on his left side. “It’s a compliment, genius. So’s the limp.”

 

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Sjin places a worrying hand on Sips’ hip, kneading his thumb there. “Are you gonna be okay?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Sips kisses him and replies, “You have literally no idea what kinda shit I’ve done.”

 

“Don’t think I want to,” Sjin says, blushing.

 

“Yeah well,” Sips positively leers, “maybe I’ll get silk shirt guy in on it and show you sometime. Or Honeydew, bears are always fun. Or both.”

 

“Okay, leaving now!” Sjin announces, turning tail, but not fast enough to escape before Sips grabs his wrist and pulls him back, stealing a last, heated kiss.

 

“And that’ll last me till five,” he says, finally relinquishing Sjin. “See ya then? I got silk shirt on speed dial.”

 

“I’m seriously leaving now,” Sjin says. “And do _not_ call Xephos.”

 

“If you insist,” Sips concedes, watching Sjin shuffle out of the office, and it could just be wishful thinking, but Sips swears he’s favoring his right side, too.


End file.
